


You Gave Me All That Time

by BlueColoredDreams



Series: Rivers and Roads [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anxiety, Birthdays, Childhood, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, M/M, Vignettes, handjobs, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueColoredDreams/pseuds/BlueColoredDreams
Summary: From his eleventh birthday onward, Kei has always been by his side on his birthday. And over these years, Tadashi has gotten a myriad of gifts for his birthday, from simply cake to video games and Kei's presence. And, on his 30th birthday, Tadashi gets a small, bloody–but otherwise pristine– tooth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hg90JDJF0PU) song. 
> 
> I wanted to write either the post-Skinny Love scene or the tooth incident™ , so I figured I'd do both, since neither had quite enough substance to draw into a full fledged fic. So I wrote a series of birthday snippets from my S&F notes. Are some of them cliche? hammy? super cheesy???   
> You bet they are. Because I freakin love cheesy ham cliches.

When Tadashi turns eleven, he doesn’t tell Kei about his birthday. He tries to pretend it was an accident when Kei mouths the kanji on the blackboard to himself before leveling an almost disappointed glare at Tadashi.

“It’s just,” Tadashi says softly, pressing the tips of his fingers together, eyes veering away from Kei’s towering form. He focuses on the precise strokes of Kei’s calligraphy in the hallway, framed with the rest of the class’. “I forgot?”

He peeks over at Kei, raising his eyebrows in what he hopes is a wheedling expression.

“Yamaguchi,” Kei says. His lips twist in a way that makes Tadashi laugh despite his nervousness. “You don’t just forget that sort of thing.”

Tadashi presses his fingers even more firmly, slipping his fingers between each other, opening and closing his palms. “Well,” he says slowly. “We have those games at club starting up and all that, it’s just that I got excited about that instead.”

Kei tips his head and sighs in acquiescence. He drags a nearby chair over and sits in it, folding his arms on Tadashi’s desk. “Well,” he prompts, echoing Tadashi. “Now you remember.”

Tadashi sighs and starts twiddling his thumbs. “Yes,” he says slowly.

“It’s tomorrow,” Kei says.

“Yes,” Tadashi sighs. “Don’t worry about it Tsukki! I forgot to say something, so you don’t have to do anything.”

Kei squints at Tadashi, lips forming a slight pout. “Why not?”

Tadashi purses his lips together, fighting the burn in the back of his throat. He can’t bring himself to tell Kei that it’s because he’s self conscious after going to Kei’s birthday party the month before. Even though it had just been family, with Akiteru and a few cousins that all were Akiteru’s age, and therefore thought Kei and Tadashi were the most adorable things on the planet, they’d gone out to dinner. It had been loud and boisterous with Kei laughing and blushing in embarrassment at so much attention. There had been gifts that weren’t the least bit practical or austere, and a cake.

Tadashi hadn’t realized that birthdays could be like that in real life. He thought that, like the way bullying was handled on TV programs, that birthdays were done up like that just for entertainment—TV wasn’t real, after all. It wasn’t a quiet dinner like all the other ones—if Tadashi was lucky, his mom would remember that she’d asked Tadashi what he wanted and actually make it. There’d been one year where she actually took him out to eat, but for the most part she was too busy for that.

When he’d turned ten, he got a cupcake from the grocery store because he’d hit double digits.

He always got things like clothes or books for his birthday. Useful things that he thought that he wanted, but was always mildly dissatisfied with.

His mother _had_ said that Kei could come over, but Tadashi never invited Kei. For some reason, when he thinks about his own quiet birthdays, he remembers Kei’s face the first time he visited and the way Kei’s parents had ruffled Kei’s hair at his party.

It makes his chest feel funny.

“I just…” Tadashi says softly. He draws loops on his desk in slow patterns. “It’s… Tsukki, are your birthdays always like that?”

Kei’s face falters for a moment, brows drawn together, “Yeah? Niichan’s are quieter now, and he gets ice cream instead of cake.”

“Oh,” Tadashi murmurs. “See, mine… my parents don’t do that stuff. So.”

“Oh,” Kei echoes.

They’re both quiet for a long moment. Tadashi feels his face start to burn, and he glares at his own hands.

“Well, um, that’s okay,” Kei says finally. “Everyone does different stuff.”

“Do you think?”

“Yeah,” Kei mumbles.

Tadashi’s not heard Kei sound so unsure before, and it makes his stomach churn with something he can’t identify. He peeks up at Kei again. Kei’s brows are knit tight, mouth pinched in thought. Tadashi almost laughs because it’s the same face that Kei made a week ago when Akiteru had teased him about having to choose who to sit beside at dinner, Tadashi or him.

“…Do you think I could come over?”

Tadashi shakes his head quietly. “My parents have to do something for school the next day,” he lies. He doesn’t like it when Kei comes over, doesn’t like how uncomfortable Kei seems in his quiet, always quiet, house.

“Oh. …I bet my mom would let you come over, if you wanted?” Kei asks.

Tadashi’s face burns and he squirms in his chair, discomfited at how easily Kei had guessed what he wanted. “Um… yeah, I’ll ask!” he says.

Kei nods once and taps the desk in a motion that would otherwise signal impatience—Tadashi knows it for what it is, though, and knows that Kei is, like himself, feeling rather awkward.

Tadashi wants to stuff his words back in his mouth, wishes the teacher didn’t write birthdays on the blackboard, and not for the first time, wishes he hadn’t even been born.

* * *

 

“You know we don’t have to keep doing this,” Tadashi says, tipping the spine of a manga to wiggle it off of Kei’s bookshelf. “If you’re tired from practice or anything.”

“Nah, my mom would cry,” Kei says from his desk.

“Still,” Tadashi laughs, balancing the book on his head as he slowly makes his way towards Kei’s bed.

Kei turns in his desk chair and reaches out, nudging Tadashi’s side as he passes. Tadashi shrieks and flinches, manga tumbling off of his head. Kei catches it, snickering.

“It’s a tra-di-tion,” he drawls lazily.

Tadashi rolls his eyes and takes the book from Kei, sticking his tongue out as he flops back on Kei’s bed. His face burns from the teasing, not because it makes him feel bad, but because Kei’d touched him. He’s so embarrassed he could die.

He’s been like that a lot, lately. Things that are normal, things that Tadashi wouldn’t usually think about are forefront in his mind.

The way they’re so casual outside of school; the way Kei will let their arms jostle or their knees knock; the way Kei steals bites from his lunch when they eat alone; the hoarse way Kei had shouted in excitement during the Shiritorizawa match. Kei’s hands, when he writes in class, how his thumbs move as he texts, the deft way he tapes them up now, the way bruising spreads dark and purple down to his wrist.

How he looks when he jumps, when he serves. How he rolls his knee pads up his shins, and the way his hair sticks out in little tufts around the band of his sports goggles. The way Kei eats strawberry shortcake and texts him at odd hours of the night with animal facts. The sound of the music that drifts out through his headphones and his punctual texts in the morning.

His smiles and smirks, and the way his eyes look behind his glasses. The owl-eyed blink he does when he takes his glasses off.

How they’ve shared everything from chapstick to a bed. The nights they held hands when they were little. The tradition that started just because Kei couldn’t bear Tadashi not having a place that celebrated his birthday.

Tadashi  can’t stop thinking about Kei. He can’t stop thinking about Kei as something more than his best friend, as his most important person. He thinks about holding those hands and kissing Kei’s wrists. About the sound of his voice when he’s out of breath; about the way their hands jostle or the casual way Kei will lean on him in private.

He has it bad. So bad that just thinking about it makes his stomach climb to the back of his throat, his heart flutter, and his hands grow cold.

Kei is the most important person in his life—Tadashi doesn’t want that to ever change.

He rolls over again on Kei’s bed and stares up at the ceiling. “You know, I’m old enough now that… It’s not a big deal that my parents don’t do birthdays,” he says.

Kei’s chair squeaks, and he looms into Tadashi’s vision. “Yeah?” he asks.

He sits down on the bed beside Tadashi, then lays down.

Tadashi folds his arms over his face, feeling his cheeks and eyes burn. He feels his throat start to close up as he speaks, but he pushes his voice out. “It’s fine,” he says, “It doesn’t bother me anymore—like… maybe we should stop.”

Beside him, Tadashi feels Kei shift. Their legs touch, and Kei starts wiggling his knee, deliberately knocking it into Tadashi’s. “Yeah?” he prompts again.

“Yeah,” Tadashi confirms.

He wants to roll over and tuck himself against Kei’s chest. Learn what it feels like to bury his head into the crook of Kei’s neck.

“We’re too old for this,” Tadashi says a bit helplessly as Kei knocks knees with him just a bit harder.

“What, birthdays? Nah,” Kei answers. “What’s this about?”

Tadashi shakes his head, “It’s stupid.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s just that,” Tadashi starts, taking Kei’s baited question. “What if you get a girlfriend, Tsukki? You’re not gonna want to do this anymore—she won’t…”

“Okay, first of all,” Kei says seriously, reaching over to touch Tadashi’s elbow. “I’m not getting a girlfriend in the foreseeable future.”

“You don’t know that,” Tadashi retorts.

Kei gently tugs at Tadashi’s arm as he snorts. “You don’t know how much I _do_ know that.”

Tadashi lets Kei pull his arm away, looking up at his friend’s bemused face. “You can’t know you won’t get a girlfriend,” he mumbles, “Don’t be stubborn.”

Kei’s face twists up in part annoyance, part amusement. The way his lips turn into a pout, the slight squint to his eyes—Tadashi wants to take it all and make it his.

“I don’t quite think it’s stubbornness,” Kei says slowly, his cheeks coloring despite his haughty tone. He squeezes Tadashi’s wrist. “I just don’t have an interest in _girl_ friends.”

Tadashi’s heart simultaneously breaks and leaps. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Well. A boyfriend then. You’ll get a boyfriend and it’ll be even _worse_. Kei we share… food, clothes, the bed—you’ll find someone, and they won’t like it, and you’ll—we’ll—have to…”

Kei squeezes Tadashi’s wrist even harder, amusement gone from his face. “Yamaguchi, shut up. I wouldn’t. If whoever I date dislikes you, then they aren’t worth dating.”

Tadashi closes his eyes and releases a shaky breath, feeling his eyes burn. “Okay,” he says softly. “Okay, Tsukki.”

Kei keeps his hold on Tadashi’s wrist. Tadashi hears him inhale sharply, and opens his eyes to look up at Kei. His face is strained, eyebrows furrowed with something like pain as his lips twist and his eyes drop to the sheets, hidden behind gold lashes. Something about the expression makes Tadashi ache, makes him want to slide his hand so their fingers are entwined; it’s almost longing, almost rueful, and Tadashi doesn’t know what it means.

Kei’s voice is soft and serious: “And I… you really don’t understand how much I’m _sure_ that won’t happen. I want to keep doing the same things we’ve always done. You keep me in line, Yamaguchi. I would have never… I wouldn’t have made up with nii-san as soon as I did, I wouldn’t have jumped higher,  tried harder, without you to yell at me.”

Tadashi blushes and shakes his hand; Kei’s grip remains firm. Tadashi turns his face away, shielding it with his other arm. “Ugh, Tsukki. You sap.”

“Boo, you cried during Finding Nemo.”

Tadashi laughs, his face as hot as his eyes; Kei keeps his hold on his wrist long after the conversation fades. The image of Kei’s face lingers in his mind, and he wonders what it means— he doesn’t understand it until months later.

* * *

Tadashi turns seventeen in Kei’s arms. As had become their practice, Tadashi spends the night at Kei’s on his birthday.

He’s not nervous until Kei comes back, the hall dark behind him; “They’re asleep,” he says softly, face impassive in the shadows.

Tadashi gulps down air, his heart suddenly hammering behind his chest. “Um, good,” he says finally. It’s not like they haven’t spent the night with each other before, they’ve known each other for years, and have been dating for months now.

“You look like you swallowed something sour,” Kei says, voice hitching into a snicker as he closes his bedroom door quietly.

Tadashi pouts and sprawls himself across Kei’s bed, nerves evaporating at Kei’s usual teasing. “Sleep on the floor, Tsukishima Kei.”

“It’s my bed,” Kei says, perching on the edge of the bed, prodding Tadashi’s side with one finger.

Tadashi flinches, biting back a high laugh as Kei continues to prod his side where he’s the most ticklish. “But it’s my birthday!”

“It’s thirty minutes until midnight,” Kei replies evenly, pressing two fingers to Tadashi’s side.

Tadashi stifles a shriek, rolling away. Kei follows after him, flopping into bed and sliding behind Tadashi. He tucks his head against Tadashi’s neck, curling his body against Tadashi’s. “Since you gave me space, I guess you don’t have to wait for your present,” he murmurs.

Tadashi shivers and leans back into Kei, a lazy grin spreading across his face. His stomach still gives  a tight lurch of nerves, but this position is familiar and warm from lazy study sessions and sleepovers since they’d started dating. “I already know what it is,” he murmurs. “Because I know you so well.”

Kei clicks his tongue, “No, it’s because you’re nosey.”

“That too,” Tadashi says. “You hide it in the same place every year. I unwrapped it when you went to the bathroom.”

“What? Really? Tadashi,” Kei complains.

Tadashi rolls over and hooks his leg over Kei’s, wrapping his arm around the blond’s shoulder. “Sorry, Tsukki,” he says, leaning up to press a kiss to Kei’s lips.

Kei pulls him close, hand firm against the small of his back. “You don’t sound sorry,” he mumbles.

Tadashi cups a hand over Kei’s cheek, guiding him against his lips. “Not really,” he replies against Kei’s mouth.

Kei laughs and pulls Tadashi closer, cutting off further discussion with a slide of his tongue. They kiss as often as they can—in the bathrooms at school and behind the gym during lunch. On the way home and in the little park, hidden inside a jungle gym crawling tube. On the floor in their bedrooms, quiet and furtive when their parents are home; deep and messy and exploring  when they’re alone.

But it still feels different like this, in the half-light cast by Kei’s computer and in Kei’s bed. Tadashi’s head spins; he urges Kei closer, hooks his leg tight against Kei. Kei slides his leg through Tadashi’s and slips his hand underneath Tadashi’s shirt.

Tadashi inhales sharply through his nose, fingers slipping from Kei’s cheek to his hair. Against him, Kei trembles, body stiff with tension. Tadashi realizes he’s holding himself too stiffly as well; he focuses on relaxing against Kei, to coax Kei into relation too.

It’s hard to, though; Kei’s hand traces up and down his spine, a feeling that’s both ticklish and arousing. Tadashi pulls back from their kiss with a wet noise, and Kei chases after him, mouth still open.

He feels dizzy and too hot; his hand drags down Kei’s neck to his shoulder, then down. Kei makes a soft noise against his lips and presses into the way Tadashi cups his hand against Kei’s stomach.

Tadashi slips his hand inside of Kei’s shirt, skin blazing against his cold fingers. He tries to pull away again, but Kei catches his lip with his teeth.

Tadashi moans, then laughs. “Kei,” he whispers against slick lips. “Let me take your shirt off.”

“Oh,” Kei murmurs, nuzzling his nose against Tadashi’s cheek. “’Kay.”

Tadashi kisses Kei’s temple, right where his hair curls against his forehead. His body feels tight and hot, and as he gently tugs Kei’s shirt off, Kei does the same with his own shirt. Their arms get tangled and they have to wiggle, and Tadashi can’t help but laugh.

He slides a hand down Kei’s side, biting his lip as Kei shivers. He curls himself tight against Kei. Kei slips his leg over Tadashi’s hip, slotting them together.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, his face pink as he pulls Tadashi up against him. His thumb traces a circle against Tadashi’s lower back.

“Of course,” Tadashi answers, face hot. His skin tingles where Kei touches him, heat pooling low in his stomach. “Please.”

“Yeah,” Kei whispers. He kisses Tadashi’s cheeks, then his jaw, then back up to his lips.

Tadashi’s hand wanders to Kei’s hip, arching his body forward. Kei’s hand slides down, pressing Tadashi close as they start to rock their hips together. Kei’s breathing goes harsh against Tadashi’s mouth, his voice leaking out in soft, stuttering moans that make Tadashi’s heart skip and his mouth go dry.

Kei’s voice is so quiet that Tadashi’s almost afraid more movement will shatter the other boy into pieces.  He pulls back and rests his forehead against Kei’s. Kei’s eyes screw shut and he grips Tadashi’s hip, mouth open as Tadashi slips his hands inside of Kei’s pajama pants.

“Ah… Tadashi,” Kei mumbles, jerking as Tadashi’s fingers carefully slide over him.

Tadashi’s stomach burns, his neck burns. He feels like he’s going to burn Kei just with his touch alone.

“Go on,” he whispers, tipping his head so their noses align. Kei’s lips ghost against his and Tadashi slides his head just so so he can kiss Kei again and again and again. He just holds Kei in his hands until Kei’s trembling eases and Kei’s hands, cool and light, slip against his own skin.

His hips press forward, knocking into his own knuckles as Kei’s fingers grasp his cheeks. “Yeah,” he whispers, voice rough and half-gone. He slips his fingers over Kei’s length as Kei massages his fingers into him. Tadashi can’t think, all he can do is kiss Kei and gasp.

Tadashi hooks his knees behind Kei’s and scoots himself forward, withdrawing his hands. Kei cries softly at the loss. Tadashi shakes his head, reaching up and out for the bottle of lube they nearly died to buy. “This first,” he mumbles.

They’d tried to do this before, one time when Tadashi’s parents were away—to take it past idle touches and clothed motions. Maybe it had been a signal that they weren’t quite ready, or maybe they just had bad luck—but whatever the case, Kei had been allergic to the lotion Tadashi used. Doing it without any sort of lubrication wasn’t good for either of them, either. So they’d had to make the trip to a far-away drug store, buying lube with chips and sodas and athletic tape for Kei’s hands, slinking through the line with burning faces.

 _Better to die of embarrassment than die because your dick has hives,_ Tadashi remembers Kei muttering.

Remembering it makes Tadashi chuckle and Kei presses his nails into the inside of Tadashi’s thigh in retaliation. Or maybe just frustration at the sudden lack of stimulation.

Tadashi shivers, body arching up against Kei, who’s busied himself kissing and sucking at the junction of Tadashi’s neck and shoulder, fingers tracing against his thighs then up between them.

Tadashi grips the tube tightly, eyes screwing shut as Kei spreads his thighs open with his knee, fingers tracing between them—mostly fingertips, sometimes a touch of nail—against the cleft of his ass, then down against his perineum to his balls, then back up. It almost tickles, but in a way that makes his toes curl up and his stomach shake. He feels his dick twitch and the way he leaks in his own underwear.   
  
“Mm, Kei, c’mon,” Tadashi murmurs, rubbing their hips together.

Kei grips Tadashi’s ass, grinding into him. “You’re who’s taking their time,” he grouses, breath hot then cold against the slick place on Tadashi’s neck.

“Tsukki,” Tadashi complains.

Kei huffs and slips his hands out of Tadashi’s pants. He pushes the band down; Tadashi wriggles as the elastic catches around his thighs. “Happy? You’re stuck now,” Kei mutters.

Tadashi rolls his eyes and drops the tube between them. He reaches down and lifts his knee, freeing one leg from his flannel pants. “You too,” he says, but the suggestion is superfluous – Kei is already mimicking his motions.

Kei scoots close, leg hooking around Tadashi’s once more. His inhale is loud and shaky as their bare erections brush. Tadashi leans in, hand searching for the tube between them; he kisses Kei as he pops the cap with his thumb, a movement that he silently marvels at for its unexpected smoothness.

 It doesn’t last long, because he spills far more than he wanted between them—Tadashi fumbles with the tube as it slips from his fingers. Kei flinches, but laughs hand covering Tadashi’s. “Easy,” he says, like Tadashi is a horse that’s been spooked.

Tadashi kisses him again, lips parted and breath hitching in his throat as Kei guides Tadashi’s fingers through the slick spill of lube on his stomach.

Tadashi breathes out a moan as Kei eases his hand down, fingers brushing over damp pubic hair and soft skin until his palm envelops Kei’s length. Kei grips Tadashi, bringing both of their erections together.

Tadashi moans and Kei gives an answering one in return. Kei thrusts against Tadashi’s slick palm and Tadashi mimics the motion.

Kei’s thumb rubs over his head and Tadashi turns his head to press his cheek hard  against the pillows. He digs his knee into Kei’s thigh, then hoists it higher up, trying to press closer. He’s dizzy and hot and Kei’s fingers leave his dick; they dance against his hip, then on the small of his back.

Tadashi reaches out and grasps Kei’s hip, mouth opened in a soundless plea as Kei’s fingers rub between his cheeks again, repeating the trail of firm circling massages from earlier. Then Kei presses his middle finger firmly to his entrance.

Tadashi nods and rocks his hips back into the touch. Kei presses inside of him, letting Tadashi’s rocking give him depth.

“Tsukki,” Tadashi gasps, “Tsukki, please.”

Kei nuzzles Tadashi’s cheek, kissing his open mouth. “Please,” Kei echoes in a voice so soft and hoarse that Tadashi’s heart skips. He rubs slow circles inside of Tadashi.

Tadashi whimpers and his hips twitch forward. Kei ruts against him, breath hissing through clenched teeth. Tadashi digs his nails into Kei’s hip, mouth falling slack as he loses himself in the feeling of thrusting against Kei while Kei rubs inside of him.

“Tadashi,” Kei pleads. He forces himself still, drawing his hand back to circle Tadashi’s rim.

Tadashi presses his forehead against Kei’s, panting softly. “Yeah,” he replies. He lets go of his death grip on Kei’s hip ; he runs his fingers against the mess of lube on Kei’s stomach, then  reaches around.

He carefully scoots closer, both of them moaning as Tadashi shifts his hips.

Tadashi opens his eyes, watching the way Kei’s eyelashes flutter as he rubs lube-sticky fingers against Kei’s hole.

Kei whines in the back of his throat as Tadashi gently puts pressure against him, dipping the very tip of his finger inside before withdrawing it. “Like this,” he urges, thrusting his own finger back into Tadashi.

“I know,” Tadashi hiccups, back arching as Kei hooks his finger inside of him. “I just—I wanted—”

Words fail Tadashi as Kei rocks his hips up against him in time with the thrusting and rubbing motions of his finger. Any ideas of trying to tease Kei evaporate from his heat addled mind. All he can focus on is the way it feels as Kei fits a second finger inside of him and the heat around his own fingers as he matches Kei’s motions with his own hand.

Both of them are soaked with precum and sticky from drying lube; they gasp into each other’s mouth, hips shifting in time with thrusts of fingers. Kei bites at his lips and Tadashi tucks his face to Kei’s neck to muffle a sharp moan as Kei’s fingers brush something inside him that curls his toes and snaps the band of tension in his stomach.

Kei seems to sense the blinding amount of pleasure he’d given Tadashi and pushes up with the heel of his palm, fingers sinking just the slightest bit deeper. Tadashi bites down, hips and fingers jerking.

“Tadashi,” Kei moans, free hand shifting to wrap around them both. “Tadashi, please—”

Tadashi nods and stretches his fingers, seeking blindly for Kei’s pleasure as well as his own. Kei’s moan is over-loud in his ears as he finally breaks in pleasure, soaking them both in heat as he comes. Kei follows soon after, and they both rock against each other until they’re shivering and whimpering.

Kei pulls back first, but only long enough to put the tube of lube away and kick the tangle of sheets and pajama pants away. He scoops Tadashi up against him and rolls over, weight hot and familiar against Tadashi.

Tadashi contemplates the sticky mess between them and on the sheets, but the warmth of Kei’s body against his pushes the thought of cleaning away, especially given that Kei’s snuggling him with the fervor of a kitten begging for food.

Tadashi wraps his arms around Kei, nuzzling his chin with sleepy fervor. “Kei,” he murmurs, “Feel good? I feel good.”

“Yeah,” Kei whispers, dropping kisses all over Tadashi’s face. “I’m glad. Happy birthday, Tashi.”

“I love you too,” Tadashi murmurs, acknowledging the unspoken sentiment in Kei’s tenderness.

* * *

Tadashi is grounded in October.

His mother comes home one day, livid. Tadashi is blindsided by her anger, and reels from the impact of her palm on his face. While it’s not the first time his mother hit him, he can’t remember when the last time was—he thinks he was twelve, and had snapped at her in anger.

He doesn’t know why she’s angry at first—all he knows is that he goes from being buoyed by  both the team’s good standing in the national brackets and the results of his and Kei’s entrance exams for university to being on the floor, ears ringing and eye watering as his cheek smarts.

He stumbles back against the kitchen counter, eyes wide as he stares up at her red-stained face. He can’t make out what she’s saying between ringing in his ears and the way her voice loses coherence as he shouts.

He puts the pieces together later, when the noise in his ear stops and she starts doling out punishments.

A coworker had seen him and Kei walk home one day, hand in hand. Seen them exchange a kiss. Spoke to his mother in the grocery store, saying that he and Kei looked happy and hoped  they did well in their exams.

His mother was angry.

He knew she would be, but he hoped that after her anger faded, she’d quiet and ask him about what he wanted. That him being happy would matter.

He made a mistake.

His father talks her out of making him quit the volleyball team (because “ _everyone would wonder, dear, why he stopped playing after declining to retire”)_ , but she rails against Kei and his family, tells him he can’t associate with Kei anymore, says nasty things about Shimada and what she thinks is his sexual preferences and makes him quit his part time job. Calls him an embarrassment, and a disgrace. Enrolls him in cram school even though he doesn’t need it, forces him to sit for exams for universities he doesn’t want to go to, makes him sit through omiai meetings. Takes his phone at night when she finds out he’s been calling Kei after she and his father have gone to bed.

He feels hollow, scraped raw. He spends his birthday in his room, staring at the ceiling. He traces patterns over the scarf Kei had given him as a present, that he’d lied and said was from Yachi when his mother asked, bitter at the way his mother is placated by a girl’s name.

He doesn’t want to live like this. He can’t. Part of him wishes his parents had never had him. The other part carefully plans each step he needs to take so he can leave. He’s eighteen, about to graduate. He can work. Live alone. Never look back.

He’ll do it, he has to. Logically, there’s no other way, no matter how much he hopes otherwise.

* * *

Tadashi’s nineteenth birthday passes without much fanfare—Kei buys him pudding and fries, a stationary set and a new day planner from the bookstore he’s gotten a job at. The details are muddy to Tadashi, who’s lost in a sea of sluggish nothing as he struggles with getting into a medicine routine that works for him.

Looking back, what stands out the most to him isn’t his birthday and the grand gift of generalized anxiety and parents who didn’t even call, it was what happened a few days afterwards:

He’s lucky enough that his professors gave him extensions on his finals and term papers, he thinks, eyes burning from staring at his computer screen for hours—but he would feel so much better if he could get them done. Weariness eats at his bones.

His laptop burns his thighs as he squints at the tiny font on an article he needs for his paper. He hears keys in the lock, then the sound of the door creaking open. Cold air blasts through the apartment and Tadashi shivers.

“I’m home,” Kei calls.

“Mm,” Tadashi non-answers back. He hunches down on the sofa, chewing his lip. He hears Kei open the fridge, plastic bags rustling. The light casts an orange glow around the sofa, battling with the harsh white of Tadashi’s laptop, making his eyes water.

“Tadashi,” Kei says, “You didn’t eat anything.”

“Mmnhn,” Tadashi repeats, shaking his head. His mouth was too dry for food—his appetite, like his sex drive, has suffered with the first round of pills. Kanji swim in his eyes, duplicating and jumping on the screen as his attention shatters into pieces.

“I brought you pudding,” Kei says softly. His fingers are cool where they touch Tadashi’s neck. “Will you eat it?”

Tadashi wants to shove Kei’s soft voice and the way his brows pinch somewhere where he can’t see it. “Later,” he says. “I’m doing something right now.”

“It’s late,” Kei says. “Eat and then come to bed with me.”

Frustration wells up in Tadashi’s throat, closing it. He shrugs off Kei’s hand, “Look! I’m trying to do this, and it’s due tomorrow!”

Kei’s face pinches in tighter, mouth twisting. “Tadashi,” he says sternly. “It’s not. You got an extension, a very well deserved one. The only person who has something due tomorrow is me.”

“I want to get it _done_ ,” Tadashi says desperately. The incompletes on his term report nag at him in his sleep, in the shower, as he brushes his teeth. As he goes through the motions of being normal again, sitting in his professor’s offices as they discuss portioned exams and extended deadlines and special projects he could do instead of finals. He hates being treated like he’s something broken; he wants to do _something_ right, something on time like he was supposed to.

“I get that, but I think you should call it a night,” Kei says. “Come to bed with me, and I’ll help in the morning if you need a proof reader or someone to bounce ideas off of. It’s late, and it’s freezing in here.”

“I said no!” Tadashi snaps. “Why don’t you listen to me for once? I said I want to finish this tonight, so go to bed without me.”

Kei and Tadashi both freeze in the silence following Tadashi’s outburst. Tadashi gapes up at Kei, fear tingling through his body like electricity as he watches the way Kei’s jaw clenches and his nostrils flare in a tightly contained effort to control his anger. Tadashi knows he needs to apologize, to breathe in deeply, to explain the way those boded letters on his transcript crawl over him like ants.

“Alright… Well,” Kei says after a long moment. “You finish your paper.”

Tadashi’s mouth won’t open, his voice won’t come out. Kei steps carefully over Tadashi’s laptop cord on his way to the bedroom,  door creaking shut behind him. The light flicks on, spilling under the door in a chasm of light that seems to cut into Tadashi’s chest, leaving him weak and out of breath.

He was supposed to be trying better than this—they both were. He and Kei both—they were supposed to be over this. They’d agreed on it. And yet, nothing had changed at all.

Tadashi’s eyes burn, and he wants to get up and move. His body is cold, but his face is so so hot; his mouth trembles as he struggles to inhale. He clumsily puts the laptop aside, but can’t bring himself to get up. He just doesn’t have the strength.

After everything, how could Kei just go back to how it was?

“Kei,” he calls out, voice hoarse. “Kei, no, come—come here!”

The door to their bedroom opens quickly, and Tadashi flinches back at the sudden bright light, eyes watering with both panic and pain.

“What’s wrong?” Kei asks. He rushes forward, tripping over the cord for Tadashi’s laptop, hopping on one foot to keep from falling. “Are you ok? Are you going to be sick?”

Tadashi stares at Kei, who’s going from hopping to kneeling, his hands outstretched to take Tadashi’s in his own. Kei squints up at him, his glasses somewhere on the floor.

“…um,” Tadashi says after a moment. “…Why are you? Naked?”

“I’m not,” Kei says, obviously affronted. “I have on boxers. I was changing.”

“Why did you come running then?”

Kei blinks, then frowns. “You… called for me,” he says uncertainly. “Like, really loudly. Was I not supposed to?”

“No—yes—I mean—aren’t you mad? At me?”

Kei’s frown deepens, and then abruptly softens. “Oh, Tadashi,” he says softly. “I am upset with you, but… I don’t… I wouldn’t… ignore you when I’m— not… now.”

“But you closed the door, and…”

Kei nods, “I’m sorry. I was going to change—and I thought the light would… I should have said something.”

Tadashi shakes his head and sniffles. “No, I’m just—”

Kei squeezes Tadashi’s hands firmly. “No,” he says. “Now, I’m going to get changed for bed, okay? Are you okay?”

Tadashi nods and rubs at his face as soon as Kei lets him go. Kei ruffles Tadashi’s hair before he walks back to their bedroom, scooping his glasses up off of the floor as he leaves.

Tadashi sits back on the couch, closing his eyes. He’s exhausted from the panic that had doused him like water, but it’s a cold exhaustion, all burning eyes and weak limbs. It’s not the sort of tiredness that would grant him peace enough to sleep.

He opens his eyes, squinting at the dark square where their bedroom is; Kei had turned off the light. His laptop dims with disuse; there’s a blue glow in their bedroom—Kei’s phone.

Tadashi closes his eyes again; his essay topic dances behind his eyes, all big words and statistics that stopped making sense hours ago. He still has five more pages of essay left to write, and as many more articles to read for it.

He tries to tell himself to get moving, but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to do it now, and it’s frustrating. He wants to cry.

He hears rustling, then a soft thud, followed by Kei’s voice.

Tadashi opens his eyes, squinting at his boyfriend—who has just very gracefully, he’s sure, knocked over a tower of textbooks by their bedroom door with the train of the quilt he has wrapped around him.

“What. Haven’t you ever seen someone wrapped up in a blanket before?”

Tadashi pauses. “Um. What… what are you doing?”

“Making a mess, apparently,” Kei says dryly. He shuffles over to the sofa and plops beside Tadashi. “I’ll pick it up later.”

“Um…”

Kei wriggles down the sofa, slinging his feet over the arm before curling to lay his head beside Tadashi’s thigh. “Anyway, carry on.”

“What are you doing?” Tadashi repeats. “Like, really. For real. What are you doing?”

Kei stops wiggling for a moment, then sighs softly. “…I don’t like going to bed without you,” he says quietly.

Tadashi doesn’t even have to look down to know Kei’s pouting.  

“And I really… I really hate you staying up alone to do these sorts of things—I don’t get it at all,” Kei continues. “So… I…”

Kei wriggles under the blanket he brought with him, turning onto his side and curling his knees in. “I thought I would join you, so we wouldn’t get lonely.”

“Tsukki,” Tadashi sighs. He reaches out and gently cards his fingers through Kei’s hair. “I’m… thank you, but… I don’t… please don’t distract me,” he begs.

Tadashi feels Kei’s scalp twitch as Kei clenches his teeth. “I’m not trying to distract you,” he says angrily. “I’m trying to compromise. Tadashi, god, I just… I’m _trying_. Please try too.”

Tadashi freezes, anger pulsing to the surface. He jerks his hand back and grabs his laptop, “You don’t get it!” he snaps. “You just—still you don’t—”

Kei reaches out and touches Tadashi’s arm softly. “I don’t,” he says. “I don’t. I’m not going to if you don’t tell me. But I am going to stay right here.”

Kei draws his hand back and picks up his phone and starts to read. Tadashi simmers in frustration for a bit, angrily slamming his fingers into the keyboard as he types. His anger starts to lose steam as he starts messing up words; beside him, Kei yawns. He’s managed only a page of writing.

Tadashi switches windows to his articles, gingerly reaching out to card his fingers through Kei’s hair again. Kei is warm beside him, and nudges his head into the touch; it feels like it used to, when they would study after volleyball practice in Kei’s room.

Tadashi looks blearily at the screen. “It’s just,” he says after skimming the abstract. “I hate logging in and seeing the incomplete marks. Or seeing my emails to and from my professors. I… hate there’s a label on me, telling me I failed, that I’m weak for letting anxiety get to me.” 

“I can think of lots of things to call you,” Kei says, “But weak isn’t one of them.”

“I distinctly remember those being my words, Tsukki,” Tadashi laughs, voice cracking. “I just… want these things to be done.”

“They’ll get done in time,” Kei replies. “Look, let me help you in the morning. We’ll crank out the paper in no time, and you’ll get it in way before your extension is due.”

“Is that okay?” Tadashi asks, voice shaking. “I won’t get in trouble?”

“Tashi,” Kei whispers. “No. Help is help—do you think going to tutoring is something bad? It’s like that.”

Tadashi nods and sniffles. “Yes,” he says. “Okay.”

Kei sits up and puts his phone aside; he reaches out and takes Tadashi’s laptop from him. “I’m going to back the file up so I can get it in the morning,” he tells Tadashi, loading it to their shared cloud account. He then closes it gently, and sets it with his laptop.

“C’mere,” Kei whispers, putting an arm around Tadashi. He tugs him down, curling his body around Tadashi’s on the sofa. “We’ll get through it,” he tells Tadashi, pressing their foreheads together. “We’ll keep arguing, sure, because you’re stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?” Tadashi asks incredulously. He snorts, “Pot meet kettle.”

“And we’re both black, I know,” Kei chuckles. He brushes his lips gently against Tadashi’s. “See?”

Tadashi nods, wrapping his arms around Kei’s waist. It’s cramped and cold on the sofa, but Kei is warm and Tadashi is so tired. He falls to sleep easily, relief making his body light.

* * *

 

“You should take the tenth off,” Kei says.

Tadashi squints at Kei, not picking up on Kei’s words, like Kei was continuing a conversation they hadn’t had. Or perhaps it was a reply to the way he’d yawned and set his book aside before rolling over. “What?”

Kei sighs and closes the cover to his iPad with a quiet snap of the magnets. Tadashi reaches out and untucks Kei’s stylus from behind his ear.

“I said,” Kei repeats, “You should take the tenth off. Of November.”

He covers Tadashi’s fingers with his own as Tadashi passes him the stylus.

“Why?” Tadashi asks.

Kei’s nostrils flare as he huffs and Tadashi laughs, scooting closer to Kei under the covers.

“It’s your birthday, you butt,” Kei says. He sets his iPad aside and turns off the reading light, but doesn’t remove his glasses. His features blur in the faint glow of the nightlight by their bed, a remnant of Himawari that isn’t actually necessary anymore—she’d stopped crawling into bed with them nearly a year before, but they’d kept it because they were too used to it to take it out.

Tadashi rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. “Ah, that,” he sighs. “True. I’m old.”

“Oh shut up, I turned thirty first.” Kei turns as he lies down, propped up on one elbow as he reaches under the covers. “I took the day off,” he says pointedly. “Your birthday.”

Tadashi turns his head, lips pursed. “Did you? There’s no need—”

Kei runs his hand down Tadashi’s chest, laying his palm flat on the other man’s stomach. He leans forward, brow furrowed as his glasses slide down his nose. “Stupid,” he says softly. “Can’t you read between the lines? After all this time?”

Tadashi’s face softens; he reaches up and gently pushes up Kei’s glasses. He curls his fingers behind Kei’s ears after, brushing the soft bristles of Kei’s newly cropped curls. “Is that so?” he asks, his quiet laughter swallowed by Kei’s mouth. “What are we doing, then?”

Kei slips his hand lower, fingertips grazing warm skin as he pushes the hem of Tadashi’s shirt up. “Stuff,” he answers. “We have _plans_.”

Tadashi cranes his neck, pressing quick kisses to Kei’s mouth. “Do we now?”

Kei rubs slow circles against Tadashi’s stomach, quick kisses lingering into softer, warmer ones. Tadashi’s breath flutters against his skin, quick and hot. His fingers press a bit firmer, his hand drifts higher. “We do,” he confirms.

“Tell me?” Tadashi breathes. He lets his eyes fall shut; Kei’s presence looms over him, warm and familiar and firm as he lets himself lift up into the heat from Kei’s palm.

“It’s a surprise,” Kei says, watching as Tadashi’s head turns to press against his chest. The arm he’s braced on tingles, but he ignores it.

He slips his hand lower.

“Please?” Tadashi says. It’s both a prompt and plea, Kei relents  to both.

“Well,” Kei says slowly, drumming his fingers against Tadashi’s lower stomach. “Telling you a little won’t hurt. Himawari and I will make you breakfast, and she’ll give you her presents before school, then I’ve arranged for nii-san to pick her up and take her for the weekend.”

“Weekend?” Tadashi gasps. He wasn’t sure if he heard right—Kei’s hand distracted him.

Kei cups Tadashi in his palm, lips pressed to the warmth of Tadashi’s forehead. He moves slow, familiar, and listens to the quiet way Tadashi comes apart under his touch. “We’re going somewhere,” he says softly, when he knows Tadashi can’t focus on anything else but the way his body’s tightening and releasing.

Kei wipes his hand and Tadashi rolls over, leg hooking over Kei’s hip. Kei sets his glasses aside, then scoops Tadashi closer, rolling off of his pins-and-needles arm, and into the center of the bed, Tadashi wedged underneath him.

“When did you have the chance to make weekend plans?” Tadashi yawns, wiggling until they’re both comfortable. He shoves his hands up Kei’s back, fingers icy.

Kei shivers, “I can multitask.”

“Okay but how did you do it without me noticing?”

“I’m just good,” Kei says stubbornly, pursing his lips. He watches as the whites of Tadashi’s eyes glint as he rolls them, then laughs. “I turned in points on our card.”

“I always forget about those,” Tadashi muses. He rubs his nose against Kei’s cheek, rubbing up and down Kei’s spine.

“I know,” Kei snickers. 

Tadashi snorts and drags a nail down Kei’s spine. “Sneaky, you’re a sneaky squirrel.”

“Guilty,” Kei murmurs, kissing Tadashi softly. “So you need to ask off.”

“I get it, I get it,” Tadashi laughs. “I’ll ask in the morning. “

“Good,” Kei drawls, nuzzling into Tadashi’s temple, “I’ll handle it all after that.”

And that’s that—Taadshi asks, and his boss waves him off as he writes it into the master calendar with purple dry-erase maker. To Tadashi, the motion seems to say ‘don’t worry about it’, the sort of gruff kindness he expects from the old man who runs the clinic.

The night before his birthday, Kei fusses over him and insists that he should sleep late, so he does. It’s amusing to see the lengths Kei is going to in order to pamper him (and even more so to watch Himawari follow around after Kei, repeating each of his instructions, her face stern).

So when he’s awoken the next morning by Himawari’s hand patting his cheek, he thinks nothing of it.

He rolls onto his side, blinking sleepily at the outline of his daughter through the light of the hallway. “What is it, sweetheart?” he yawns.

“Hand please,” Himawari instructs. Her voice is a bit odd, like she has her mouth full, but Tadashi can smell pancakes and bacon wafting from the hallway—and Himawari takes after Kei’s worst sweets habits: the likelihood that she’d snuck a pancake and come to hide is nearly one-hundred percent.

“Okay,” Tadashi says, sticking a hand out of the comforter.

Himawari bends forward and opens up her mouth over Tadashi’s hand. A single tooth falls from her mouth into Tadashi’s palm.

It shines in the light of the hallway, both a creamy ivory and vivid red. Other than the blood (and spit), it’s a pristine baby tooth. The front incisor, it looks like.

“Happy birthday!” Himawari says happily, the hard consonants of her words slurring with the sudden absence of tooth.

Despite having to do countless dissections to gain his degrees, then countless surgeries in his work—including removing teeth from older dogs and cats—and having a stomach of steel when it came to blood and sick and other unsanitary bits of bodily fluids as both a father and a veterinarian, Tadashi can’t help it.

He screams.

He gives himself credit for not dropping the tooth, but he can’t help it, between the surprise of holding his daughter’s first lost baby tooth and being sleep addled and the sudden realization that oh boy, he really does not like this.

He also gives Kei credit, because he comes sprinting down the hallway in seconds, before Tadashi’s even really done freaking out that _his six year old daughter gave him her tooth for his thirtieth birthday, for fucks sake_ , socks skidding on the wooden floor as he grabs the doorframe, then fumbles for the light switch.

The sudden brightness makes Tadashi’s eyes water and he gives another shout of consternation.

“What’s the matter?!”

“Hi, daddy!” Himawari chirps.

“Didn’t I tell you not to bother your papa this morning?” Kei scolds, striding forward to kneel by the bed. He puts one hand on Himawari’s head, scruffing her hair up as he gently touches Tadashi’s shoulder. “You okay? That was one… well.”

“Um,” Tadashi says, and opens his hand.

“Holy shit.”

“Daddy, that’s a bad word,” Himawari says seriously, reaching up to tug at Kei’s sweater. “That’s ice cream money.”

“Sorry kiddo,” Kei says. He turns and cups Himawari’s chin. “When’d that happen, let me see, sweetheart.”

Himawari opens her mouth, and Tadashi gives a soft groan at the soft red pit in her mouth.

“I am going to faint,” Tadashi says.

Kei rolls his eyes. “So, just now, then?”

“Um….” Himawari says, shifting from foot to foot. “Ye… no.”

“Which?”

“….I ate a piece of apple and it came out so I gave it to papa,” Himawari says, eyes skirting over Kei.

“The apple that wasn’t supposed to be eaten yet, huh,” Kei laughs. “Oh, well, if you were hungry, there were worse things that you could have eaten. Go and rinse your mouth out, ok? Then go get the real present for your papa.”

“Okay!” Himawari says, nodding.

“Happy birthday!” she repeats to Tadashi as she skips out of the room, humming to herself.

Once Himawari is out of earshot, Kei turns his full attention to Tadashi, lips curling up into a crooked smirk. “You deal with all sorts of nasty shit at work, but you scream when your daughter loses a tooth?” he leers.

Tadashi carefully places the tooth on the nightstand, then reaches out to rub his palm against Kei’s apron. “I… don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” he says.

“You sounded like a slasher film.”

“I suddenly don’t understand Japanese. Wow.”

Kei laughs and pats Tadashi’s hip over the covers. “You’re freaked out by teeth,” he teases. “She’s got a whole mouth of them left.”

Tadashi groans and tugs the covers over his head. “Nope. I’m not home. Come back during business hours, the dad express is closed.”

Kei laughs until he snorts, his weight shaking the bed. Tadashi peeks out of the cover and pouts over at his husband. “It’s my birthday, don’t tease,” he whines. “I haven’t even had coffee.”

Kei sniffs a bit, catching his breath. “Happy birthday,” he says genuinely, gripping Tadashi through the covers as Himawari comes rushing back with a large bag topped with gold crepe paper. “There’s breakfast in the kitchen; I’ll bring it in once you’re through opening it.”

Tadashi sits up, letting Himawari bounce onto the bed, a smile spreading across his face. This is home, where he’s warm and happy, and like always, Kei is by his side. It might be such small things, to be able to open his present in bed, Himawari tucked into his side and Kei’s arm around his shoulder; to watch Himawari fold up the paper from his wrappings into a clumsy flower like she’d been taught in school; to laugh at the terrible patterned socks he got this year, and share slightly burnt bacon coated with syrup with Kei with Himawari making faces.

To button Himawari’s coat up  in the hallway and kiss her cheek goodbye while Kei takes her to school, to open his phone to a screen full of notification from his friends and Kei’s family—and even his own—wishing him a happy birthday.

To have Kei, year in and year out, make an effort to make his birthday special because of the impact his small, quiet voice had on him nineteen years previously. Small things that built over the years to this overwhelming feeling of love and warmth and care, all piling up, day after day that culminated to this.

Tadashi greets Kei when he returns, wearing his silly socks and the sweater Kei had gotten him with little shiba dogs sewn in, fair-island style. He takes Kei’s hands in his own and kisses him softly.

“Welcome back,” he says. “Now tell me all about your plans for me.”

And even after all of it, they’re still building.


End file.
